


Kiss from a Rose

by EdenMcAddams



Category: Isle of Sirens, Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Beta Dean Winchester, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Slut, Cock Tease, Cock Tease Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Under Mind Control, Dendrophilia, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consentacles, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Edging, F/M, Femdom, Flower Crowns, Flowers, Hypnotism, Impala Cameo, Inanimate Object Porn, Kissing, Lust, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Human Impala (Supernatural), Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Ownership, Paranormal, Plant sex, Plants, Pop Culture, Porn With Plot, Rape, Rape Fantasy, Reluctant Dean Winchester, Rough Kissing, Seduction, Sex, Sex Pollen, Skirts, Submission, Tentacles, The Impala (Supernatural), Tree Sex, Vines, alraune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 11:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdenMcAddams/pseuds/EdenMcAddams





	1. Chapter 1

"So get this,” Sam said as he slid in his chair to where Dean sat at the desk, cradling a mug of coffee.

"You're enjoying that a little too much, aren't you?" Dean said.

"What?"

"The chair." Dean said, and he gesticulated at Sam who was now spinning 360 degrees in the office chair. "Yeah, that exactly. Can you— Stop. Just stop, it makes a noise when it spins and I have... I have a splitting headache."

"Got it,” Sam said, and he stopped spinning. “No problem. But get this."

"It's not another case is it?" Dean said.

"Yes, actually,” said Sam, “Well... Maybe. There's a lot of talk about this old abandoned mansion that's been overrun with weird vines." 

"So... what's weird about the vines? Vines on an abandoned building sounds pretty damn normal to me."

"Well..."

"Wait, are we talking Petey Piranha yelling 'feed me Seymour' at people or do they go in and find themselves in The Upside Down or something?"

"It's Audrey II that says that, first of all. But a Stranger Things reference? Really?"

"What? You're gonna correct me over a musical and then harp on me for watching Stranger Things."

"I'm just saying... it's unexpected. I thought Casa Erotica was more your speed. I didn't know you even had a Netflix account."

"Come on, I am a man of many tastes."

"Says the man who gets the same burger at every dive bar across the nation."

"Fair enough," Dean said, "but the double cheeseburger is an All-American Classic—that's why it's _at_ every dive bar across the nation. And speaking of Classics, Stranger Things is a modern classic in its own right. Who knows, maybe it's second-hand nostalgia for the childhood we never had."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You watched it just for Winona Ryder didn't you, Dr. Freud." 

"No. Of course I didn't, I—fine. The mom's kinda hot."

Sam rolled his eyes, a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh don't go there..." Dean said.

"I'm not!" Sam said with an incredulous laugh, but his smirk grew into a full shit-eating grin.

"_Now_ who's Dr. Freud?"

"I didn't say anything!" Sam said, and he threw his hands up.

"But you thought it,” said Dean, “It's not mommy issues.”

"Jesus, Dean," Sam shook his head and laughed again to relieve the tension. "Anyway, no, this isn't the Demogorgon, or Audrey II or Pete..."

"Petey Piranha. It's Mario."

"Oh. Right," Sam said, "I can't believe I didn't know that."

"You were too busy actually being productive and doing something with your life."

"Right. So. Survivors claim to have been lured into the mansion by beautiful women with flowers in their hair and poisonous lips that tried to seduce them."

"What? Like Poison Ivy?"

"Yeah, that’s actually not a bad comparison. Reading up on some lore, it seems like this could be something called a 'flower siren', first documented by the French explorer Jacques du Jasón, who ran into a few on an island he calls _L'île de fleurs_."

"Wait. Sirens? We've had a run-in with one of those too before, right?"

"Yeah... But I think these are something else. Their whole M.O. is different, and Jasón just called them _fleurs_."

"That's just French for 'flowers', right?"

"I'm impressed," Sam said with a smirk on his face.

"It's the language of love. You think the ladies can resist a guy who knows a little French?”

"You wouldn’t happen to be able to say a single sentence in French, would you?"

"No, but that's besides the point. All you need is to throw in a word here or there, like _omelette du fromage_." He said this with an exaggeratedly sensual voice, then added, "The ladies dig it."

"Nice one, Dexter. Just don't get too caught up chasing the ladies. These kind can be deadly."

"Noted."

XXX

It was dark by the time the brothers pulled up to the abandoned estate. The cast iron gates had all but rusted away, and the eerie skeleton of the greenhouse glowed in the beams of the Impala.

The living room had been picked clean by looters, and there was no sign of the tell-tale flowering vines that might signal a flower siren nest.

"Let's split up," Dean said, and before Sam could respond he added, "Yes, I know the horror movie cliché, but it's a big ass mansion and we don't know exactly what we're looking for." 

"When will we ever learn..."

"Maybe next season. But we'll be here a week if we stick together." 

Sam shrugged.

"That's fair."

Sam took the kitchen. Dean took the... well, he wasn't sure what room it was. A study maybe?

Dean's flashlight's beam swept around the dark room catching cobwebs and toppled, dilapidated furniture too rotten to loot, but not much else. He could more easily imagine ghosts inhabiting this place than a seductive siren.

And then he saw it.

"Sam!" he whispered. "I found something."

In the corner of the room, poking out of an air vent, was a single tendril of vine. He withdrew his pocketknife and unscrewed two of the four screws on the faceplate before the remaining rusted screws snapped and the plate broke free of the wall. Dean toppled backwards and fell on his ass. Dust filled the air and Dean stood, rubbing his sore ass, as he inspected the vent.

It was big enough for a grown man to crawl through, but just barely.

"Hey Sam," he called, "I found one of the vines in a vent. I'm going to see where it goes."

There was still no response. Dean shrugged. He'd just have to investigate it himself then.

Dean crawled through the opening and followed the vine into the darkness, his flashlight ahead of him to light the way. Before long the vine grew thicker and it was joined by two and then three more coming from the same direction.

He could have sworn he saw one of the vines move out of the corner of his eyes, but when he stopped and turned to look it was still.

He shrugged. He must have imagined it.

As he crawled further through the duct, more vines appeared. Some of them had little red buds. The air became thicker and sweeter. Everything seemed pinker somehow, with a soft glow around the edges.

His vision blurred. Lightheaded, he nearly lost his balance even though he was already on all fours. The vines around him moved. No, that couldn't be right. He had to be hallucinating. He blinked, tried to focus his vision, but the vines kept moving, slithering like snakes.

He crawled faster.

Something soft and warm touched the back of his neck with what he could have sworn felt like a kiss. And then another. And another. He twisted back to look at what had touched him, but he saw only the vines with their flowers. But it was the shape of those flowers that surprised him. Each of the buds had opened to reveal a pair of two very plump, very sensual red lips.

"What the—"

And then the vines wound around his legs. Quicker than he could react, the bright green cords held him firmly in their grip. There was no mistaking it this time. They were moving. Sliding, twisting around him.

He shook his legs to get them off, but that only loosened their grip a little. They returned with a vengeance, wrapping around his ankles, snaking up his pant legs. The vines' soft leaves caressed his inner thighs as they creeped upwards and he quickened to their touch, at once comforted by the soft sensation and frightened by his arousal. He slapped his legs to warn the plants away, but the duct was too cramped. He just banged his elbows on the duct with a loud bang that reverberated through the entire shaft.

Then, as if responding to the sound, a rustling of leaves echoed from farther down the shaft like the sound of a thousand scurrying feet.

"Get off!" Dean growled, desperate to remove the foliage before the coming rush arrived. He unzipped his pants and clawed at the greenery that had infested his pants. 

It was only after he had plunged his fingers into his underwear and yanked them away to get at the tendril twisting around his dick that he looked up at the hot red lips of the flowers and realized his mistake. 

The rustle behind him was getting louder. He had to move now or he'd be—

He didn't finish the thought. Instead he gasped, overwhelmed with a wave of pleasure radiating from his lap. He gasped again. And then he looked down.

Plush red lips slid off of his dick. Nectar like saliva oozed from between the lips, dripping over the tip and down the shaft. He could almost swear the lips were smirking at him. 

Dean's heart hammered. He wanted those lips on him again. Lust crashed through his veins. His cock tingled with the nectar oozing over its shaft and it rose, pulsing, growing thicker as the hungry, pouting lips moved in again. Dean watched, frozen in a confusing cocktail of horror and desire as his own body thrust slowly towards the flower's parting lips.

"What the f—ah!" he gasped.

They experimented with the tip, and a wave of need shot through Dean's body. He arched into its , it sucked and slid down until it had engulfed the head.

"No," he moaned breathily.

He grew woozy. His vision blurred and went pink around the edges.

The head it was giving him was so skilled he could almost forget it was just a flower. If he just. Closed. His. Eyes.

Dean's eyes snapped open. He couldn't just give in. His hands closed around the flower and tugged at it to pull it away, but vines latched onto his wrists. They pulled his arms back, the muscles rippling as he strained against the thick ropes of ivy. Miniscule rips formed in the vines, and they only tightened in response until at last they gave way with a loud snap.

But before Dean could celebrate, they were quickly replaced as a rush of vines exploded around Dean. Vines crawled over and under his clothing, the soft leaves caressing his skin and binding around him.

His clothes tore away piece by piece, and he realized as the shreds fell away and disappeared down the shaft that he was moving; the vines were pulling him deeper into the duct.


	2. The Edge of Paradise

Dean kicked his legs, but it was too late; the vines had already bound his legs.

Vines lashed around his throat. He gasped for air, and only inhaled more of the sweet perfume that had already made him so woozy. Dean tried to claw the vine off his neck, but his arms were bound to his side.

All the while the flower’s lips slid further down the shaft of his cock.

“No! Please!” Dean gasped, “What is this? Why is—”

A moan interrupted his cry, and he realized it was his own. He thrust into the flower’s lips. He couldn’t resist. His tense muscles bulged, the vines twisting around him straining to contain him.

Stars danced behind his eyes. The claustrophobia of the air duct fell away and Dean landed in the middle of a spacious room—or what Dean assumed had once been a room before it had become a jungle.

The pink haze was thick here, like a humid fog. Flowers of endless varieties grew in every direction on vines, on shrubs, even on trees that stooped when they met the ceiling, their branches laden with bright, heavy fruits.

A woman strutted out of the fog, and the pink clouds swirled as she swayed toward Dean. Her long red hair trailed behind her in shimmering waves that rippled as she moved. A crown of roses adorned her head, with more roses tucked into the length of her hair. Aside from a very short miniskirt with flounces that looked like rose petals, that was all she wore.

“Are you,” Dean said, gasping more than talking as the flower around his dick continued to suck, “Are you the flower siren?”

The woman laughed, and she cupped her bare breasts as she swayed.

“Oh, my love,” she said, and she joined him in the pillowy flower bed. “You can call me whatever you want.

“But ‘siren’?” She tsked at him. Her perfume washed over him, sweet but tangy, with sensual spice notes. “That implies I would lure you to your death. You don’t think that of me, do you? I would be very offended?”

“That is what you do, though, isn’t it? Lure people in and kiss them with your poisonous—ahhh!”

He gasped, squirming to free himself from the flower on his dick. It wouldn’t let go and it wouldn’t be ignored as it lavished its tongue over his cock. Nectar oozed from its lips, seeping into his skin and running slowly down his thighs.

The woman beside him laughed and tossed her hair.

“My sweet pet, only if you call rapturous pleasure poisonous.”

Her perfume swirled around him, and it seemed sweeter somehow, intoxicating. Her sensual atmosphere, her body against his—everything about her stoked desire like fire in his veins as she leaned in.

“You aren’t afraid of a little pleasure,” She breathed, “Are you?”

“Please,” Dean said, quivering. “Don’t kill me.”

“My love,” she said as she ran her long red nails over his chest and whispered, “I won’t kill you. I promise.”

“How do I know that?”

She trailed down his abdomen, leaving his skin quivering in their wake.

“You’ll just have to trust us,” she said.

“Us?”

“Me and my sisters. The Elata. Don’t tell me my sister has been pleasuring you this entire time without introducing herself!”

“What,” he said, “are you talking—“ And then he looked down.

There was no flower. Instead, a woman almost identical to the woman he’d just spoken to looked up at him, her full, hungry lips firmly latched around his dick.

But her lips looked the same as the flower’s. Even that smirk was the same.

With a sigh, another of the Elata caught Dean’s attention. Her hair swirled as she lay beside him, opposite her sister. They all looked identical, and all equally beautiful. It was weirdly hot how similar they were.

Women this beautiful couldn’t be real. Could they? And yet, Dean had seen so many things that were real despite how much anyone might think they couldn’t be. Surely he couldn’t discount the possibility that he wasn’t actually hallucinating, that these women actually wouldn’t harm him.

And yet, if the Elata were to be believed, the flower that had assaulted him in the air duct was the same beauty making eyes at him as she made love to him with her perfect mouth. Had he really mistook her lips for a flower, or were the other women fawning over him just flowers too? Was this all just a figment of his imagination?

Dean had so many questions, but he couldn’t focus on bringing any to his tongue. He was too busy watching the Elata’s tongue play over his cock. The smirk on her plump lips. The way the light danced off of her hair in mesmerizing patterns. He couldn’t peel his eyes off of her.

As she sucked, he realized how beautiful her eyes were, and how easily he could just get lost on them. Her long red hair fell like a waterfall over her shoulders and shimmered as it cascaded over his hips. Her hips, however, were bare save a single loose chain of flowers that served as a garter. He watched her hips sway rhythmically, found himself sinking into a pleasurable peace, thrusting slowly in time to her movements.

“W-what is…” he mumbled, “Why?”

“Why don’t we play a game,” one of the Elata beside him said, dragging her nails over his muscles, “You ask a question, and I’ll answer it—

“That doesn’t sound much like a game,” he said, “But I’ll play.”

“—if you let me kiss you,” said the other.

“And why would I do that?”

She smirked, and he realized his mistake.

“No, no that wasn’t my question! That’s not my—” But it was too late. Her lips closed around his, soft and warm and plump.

Her kiss was sweet, fruity and tangy. He was panting by the time she pulled away.

“Because,” she said, “It feels so good to kiss you!”

“But… if you’re giving me answers and kissing me, that seems like I’m getting everything and you’re getting nothing, so … why would you trade answers for kisses?”

“Because,” said the other sister in a sultry whisper as she pulled him close for a kiss, “Every kiss puts you deeper under my spell.”

Dean’s head spun, and he had to hold his breath not to sigh with pleasure.

“Your spell?”

“Our spell,” the other Elata said, and she kissed him again.

He could definitely feel it. Spinning its web around his mind, ensnaring him, winding tight and tighter.

“It takes you deeper,” one said, and at this point he wasn’t sure which. Her voice soothing and hypnotic and washed over him like cool water. “Deeper and deeper. Say it with me: ‘deeper and deeper and—“

“Deeper and deeper,” Dean said. He felt his mind slipping, growing fuzzier.

“Don’t you like how that feels?”

Yes, he wanted to say. He did like how it felt. But he didn’t have time for this. He’d have to be more specific. When he regained his composure he spoke again.

“But… why are you hypnotizing me? What are you getting out of this?”

“That’s two questions,” an Elata said, “So you get two kisses.”

“You lucky boy!” cooed the other.

She gave him answer: “I want to love you.”

And then she kissed him until he lost focus.

“And what are we getting out of this?” said her sister, and she kissed him as well, longer and harder than before, until his spun. “Well we get to make love to you, don’t we?”

“W-wait. Who said you’d get to make love with me?” Dean said indignantly, and quickly realized he had phrased it as a question. The Elata smiled wickedly and pulled him into another intoxicating kiss.

“Oh, my love,” she said, “You will.”

“That wasn’t a question!” he said, vaguely aware that his voice was slurring now. His brain was buzzing, his vision fuzzy around the edges.

“But of course it was! Have my kisses made you so silly already that you don’t know what a question is?”

“It wasn’t a question,” Dean demanded, and he gasped as the Elata’s lips worked his cock, “It was rhetorical.”

“It was a rhetorical question,” the Elata said.

“Really? Are you serious??”

The Elata leaned forward with another of her enchanting giggles.

“No!” he protested, “That wasn’t a question either!”

He struggled to avoid her kiss. Her lips were enticing, and he wanted to kiss them, to never stop—but it was exactly that desire that frightened him. If he gave in now he might never stop giving in. And yet he found his lips moving towards hers.

“It’s like you want me to dose you.”

Euphoria swept through Dean’s body as he made out with her. The tipsy feeling in his head had become full drunkenness now. Her kiss nearly knocked him out.

When she pulled away from kissing him, Dean followed, chasing her lips with his own.

“Silly boy! You’re just desperate for another kiss! That’s why you keep asking these stupid questions, isn’t it?”

“Stupid questions?” Dean repeated. His brain was in a fog, lost in pleasurable tingles and need for the beautiful goddess and the nectar from her lips.

She just giggled and dosed him again.

“Please.” Dean said.

He could barely keep his brain together enough to speak, but he summoned his will as best he could. He didn’t know if he could come back from another of their mind-melting kisses. He had to be careful. But the questions came out in a torrent like a bursting dam.

“Stop dancing around the questions,” he said, “Just tell me: Why would you want to lure people in if it isn’t to kill them? Why do you want to make love to me? And oh god, why… why can’t I think … clearly?”

His last sentence was swallowed by the lips around his cock, and the Elata gave him a mischievous smile as she licked it from base to tip.

“So many questions,” said the Elata on his left, and the one on his right finished the thought, “So many kisses. I don’t know if we can give them all.”

“W-what do you mean?” Dean asked.

“See? There’s another!”

“Please,” Dean said.

“Maybe our sisters can help.”

“There are more of you?” he said. He was absolutely incredulous.

Dean realized there were more of them settling around him, kissing his exposed skin.

The Elata’s lips swallowed his cock whole, slipping around even his balls. He didn’t know she could take him that deep. Need rose like a tide in his chest. Pressure building. And just when he thought he was about to burst her lips clamped down and she stopped. His desire plateaued, filling him near to bursting, but just short of it, so he was left with all the need and none of the relief.

“Now then,” one of the Elata purred in his ear, “Why don’t you ask for something you really want?”

“I… I don’t…” His head was spinning.

The Elata edged him again, and he arched fruitlessly. He nearly cried from how much he wanted—no, he needed—to orgasm.

“Why don’t you ask to cum?”

“Ask… to c-cum?”

“Yes,” she whispered into his mouth, “You do want to cum, don’t you?”

“I do!” he said. The desperation was clear in his voice.

“Don’t cum just yet,” she purred.

“W-what?” he gasped.

She kissed him again, and she giggled.

“You really do need to stop asking questions like that or your brain will be mush before daylight.”

His mind already felt like mush, sloshing around in his skull, melted like the goop dribbling down his legs from the beautiful siren’s lips on his cock.

He thrust into her throat, willing himself to cum, but her lips refused to let him. With her expert tongue and voluptuous red lips she tortured him with pleasure until he thought he might burst, and then she stopped.

She giggled at his frustration, the laughter vibrating around his throbbing cock.

“Please!” he cried.

“Please what?” the Elata above him purred.

“Let me cum!”

“You have to say them together. Say: ‘please let me cum.’”

“Please! Let me cum!”

Dean was absolutely shaking.

“I don’t think we will,” she said, and she giggled at his incredulity.

His body was quaking with need, his mind reeling, desire rushing through him. He needed to cum.

“I said what you asked! Please! She’s torturing me!”

The Elata sucking his cock stopped and pleaded with her sister as well.

“Please let him cum!” she cried, “I want to taste it so baaad.”

He saw his chance then. If he could just cum before her lips returned he might be able to get some relief. But her mouth had already returned to his dick, and his hopes crashed in a wave of euphoria.

“Just a little bit longer,” the Elata said to her cock-loving sister, “And then you can guzzle his cum all you want.”

“Elata, please!” Dean begged, “I can’t hold any longer! I’m going to explode!”

“Keep begging and I might let you.”

“Please! I’ll do anything!

“Oh?” Elata said, tracing his jawline, “Anything, you say?”

“Yes! I’ll give you my love! My soul! Whatever you want! Just please let me cum!”

“I don’t want your soul,” she said with a laugh, “But I will take your body.”

“You can have it! Just please let me cum!”

The Elata blew a kiss to the Elata on his cock, and Dean swore he could see a heart made of pink smoke float through the air and dissipate as it crashed into the woman’s face. Her eyes glazed over and rolled back, and her lips loosened enough for Dean to regain some control.

Dean thrust into her mouth, and savored the feeling of her giggles verberating through his flesh. The Elata let him sit up, cooing and kissing him all over as he rose over the only Elata that mattered to him in that moment. Her eyes were glazed over. She was drunk on whatever the other Elata had done to her, and she was even more desperate for his cock than before. She moaned desperately, and he felt it in every bone of his body. And the more he thrust, the more he was certain he wanted to love her forever. All of the Elata. He belonged to them.

And then the most heavenly orgasm he had ever experienced ripped through him. It exploded in his Elata’s mouth and the other Elata squealed with delight as they all dove to slurp up the droplets that spewed from her mouth. Dean fell back into the flower bed and sighed, finally satisfied, and barely able to hang on to his consciousness long enough to hear Sam’s voice call his name and see an Elata rise, her flounced skirt swirling above his face as she responded to the call.

“Wait,” Dean said, “Please don’t leave.”

“My love, don’t worry,” she said, “My sisters will keep you company.”

And in a torrent of moans and hungry kisses, Dean faded out of consciousness.


	3. Joyce

The kitchen didn't yield anything of note for Sam Winchester. Just loose tableware and the smashed remnants of old appliances long disregarded even by looters.

He made his way through several more rooms without any luck. The hardwood floors were warped and rotten, and weeds grew from some of the cracks, but nothing that screamed "this is a nest for supernatural seductresses". Just the garden variety reclamation of an abandoned house by Nature.

And then it occurred to him to check the greenhouse. That should've been one of the first places he checked. It was then, as Sam was heading toward the back of the house and he passed the stairs that led down to the basement that he heard Dean's voice. He sounded desperate, pleading and groaning as if he was in pain.

Without hesitation, Sam barreled down the basement steps. He nearly tripped on the ivy that crawled up the steps, but his brother needed him, and he didn't pay it any heed. He moved so fast he didn't notice the air getting sweeter, getting thicker.

What started as a fine pink mist became a glittering fog. Taking two steps at a time, heart pounding in his ears, Sam's breathing became labored before he even reached the bottom of the stairs. The sickly-sweet floral musk invaded his lungs, and he stumbled off the last steps, lightheaded and oddly buoyant.

The room he blundered into wasn't a basement. It wasn't even a room, really.Perhaps it could have been either of those things at one time. But now it was a jungle. Dense greenery surrounded him with an abundance of fronds and exotic flowers, many of which he had never seen before and he couldn't identify.

A woman's voice mingled with Dean's moans, and for a second Sam wondered for a moment if he'd misjudged his brother's predicament.

In the middle of a job, though? Dean might be horny but even that was uncharacteristic of him.

And then it dawned on Sam: the flower siren! He was being seduced by the flower siren! Why hadn't he connected those dots immediately? Why did his brain feels so slow, like he was through molasses just to form a single thought.

"Dean!" Sam called out, but all he heard was Dean's drunken laughter and a woman's delighted squeal.

Sam had to get to him before the siren could poison him!

And then he heard other sounds. Someone else's happy moans and squeals, closer and far more subdued than Dean's.

A woman lay tangled in vines. The thick ropes twisted around her naked body, through her long brunette hair, pushing up her breasts and binding her hands and feet so she was spread eagle. Red flowers covered the vines, every one of them shaped like plump lips, and every one kissing the woman. On her lips, suckling her breasts, as she squirmed, feminine moans ushering from her lips.

"What the hell," he said. The sight should have been disturbing—was disturbing—and but there was something arousing about it too, and Sam had to struggle against a sudden, unbidden desire to stare uselessly as the flowers swarmed her with pleasure.

Sam shook his groggy head. He had to help her. He had to free her. He tore at the vines.

But they didn't take kindly to this. They latched onto his hands, lassoing around his wrists, tugging him down. He stumbled, lurching, before regaining his footing. He pulled back, ripping the vines away and shaking them off as best as he could.

She blinked groggily.

"W-what did you do?" she asked.

"I freed you. You can go."

"B-but I..." she stuttered, "I like it here. She loves me."

"Who? Who loves you?"

"The Elata," she said and her eyes glazed over. She grabbed one of the flowers and kissed it. A moan rolled up from her throat as the lips latched onto hers. The vines twisted around her again. Nectar oozed from the corners of her mouth.

"Come on," Sam said, and he pulled the flower from her lips, tearing away the vines again, "You have to get out of here!"

"No," the woman said, fighting Sam's grip on her arm, "I'm happy with her! I love her!"

"You aren't loving anyone. You're just kissing a plant!"

"No, you don't understand!" she insisted, "Just let me show you."

"Show me?"

"How beautiful she is! How sweet her kisses are!"

"I don't know who..." Sam trailed off. But now that he was thinking about it the flowers' lips did look fairly kissable. If they had been on any woman trying to kiss him he'd have trouble resisting.

"You're not on drugs, are you?" he asked.

Maybe that was what the nectar was. The cogs turned in Sam's brain. That was why the flowers were kissing this woman, to drug her, and now she was hallucinating about a beautiful woman named Elata who loved her. And love—well, that was a hell of a drug.

"I'm not drugged," she said, her speech slurred, "I'm Joyce."

"It's nice to meet you, Joyce, but I really do need to help you get out so I can do my job."

"I have to show you," she said, "You have to kiss her!"

She pulled one of the flowers up and a length of squirming vine came with it.

"No, I think I'm, uh..." Sam said, eyes darting away from the flower's lips. "I'm gonna pass."

But Joyce shoved the flower in his face. He tried to swat it away but she pressed in. Her strength was surprising for her small frame, and she held her own as he wrestled against her persistent push.

It was the pollen in the air, he thought. He was lightheaded from the perfume. In the end, his will crumbled. He managed to wrest the thing from her hands and toss it away, but he lost his balance in the meantime. She gained the upper hand and they tumbled over together.

They landed in a flowerbed, Joyce's naked body on top of Sam's, her mouth parted inches from his. He noticed the nectar smeared on her lips, the way she was looking at him, the sweet taste of her breath as she closed in.

"Joyce," Sam said, an uncertain waver in his voice.

Vines creeped up his arms and legs, and Sam twisted, tried to shake them off. And in that short space of time he was distracted from Joyce, she managed to plant a wet, sloppy kiss on his lips.

Before he could even protest he was kissing her back.


End file.
